asy eyes fell upon the book in her lap.

"Have you got the Quarterly there? I want to glance at an article in it
if you can spare it for a moment," he said, leaning toward her with an
inquiring glance.

"No, sir, I am reading." And, without mentioning the name, Rose put the
book into his hand.

The instant his eye fell on the title he understood the look she wore
and knew what "mischief" she had been in. He knit his brows,
then smiled, because it was impossible to help it Rose looked so
conscience-stricken in spite of her twenty years.

"How do you find it? Interesting?"

"Oh, very! I felt as if I was in another world and forgot all about
this."

"Not a very good world, I fancy, if you were afraid or ashamed to be
found in it. Where did this come from?" asked Dr. Alec, surveying
the book with great disfavor. Rose told him, and added slowly, "I
particularly wanted to read it, and fancied I might, because you did
when it was so much talked about the winter we were in Rome."

"I did read it to see if it was fit for you."

"And decided that it was not, I suppose, since you never gave it to me!"

"Yes."

"Then I won't finish it. But, Uncle, I don't see why I should not,"
added Rose wistfully, for she had reached the heart of the romance and
found it wonderfully fascinating.

"You may not see, but don't you feel why not?" asked Dr. Alec gravely.

Rose leaned her flushed cheek on her hand and thought a minute, then
looked up and answered honestly, "Yes, I do, but can't explain it,
except that I know something must be wrong, because I blushed and
started when you came in."

"Exactly." And the doctor gave an emphatic nod, as if the symptoms
pleased him.

"But I really don't see any harm in the book so far. It is by a famous
author, wonderfully well written, as you know, and the characters so
lifelike that I feel as if I should really meet them somewhere."

"I hope not!" ejaculated the doctor, shutting the book quickly, as if to
keep the objectionable beings from escaping.

Rose laughed, but persisted in her defense, for she did want to finish
the absorbing story, yet would not without leave.

"I have read French novels before, and you gave them to me. Not many, to
be sure, but the best, so I think I know what is good and shouldn't like
this if it was harmful."

Her uncle's answer was to reopen the volume and turn the leaves an
instant as if to find a particular place. Then he put it into her hand,
saying